


The Word You Mean

by Notesfromaclassroom



Series: The Red Tagine [3]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:16:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notesfromaclassroom/pseuds/Notesfromaclassroom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and Uhura have been moving toward this inevitable moment for months--but becoming lovers isn't easy.</p><p>Part three of The Red Tagine trilogy, but can be read as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Connotations

**Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from these characters! I just eavesdrop on them!**

Tiny warning: Rated T—sexy without being graphic. (This story stands on its own, but in my timeline, it follows "Slips of the Tongue" and "The Visitor.")

The evening has turned chilly and the rain has stopped by the time the last student finishes his language tutorial and signals that he is ready to leave the lab. Nyota Uhura glances up briefly as the student—a first year cadet named Yee or Lee…Nyota mentally scolds herself for not remembering--scoots his chair to the console and waves on his way out the door. From her own console where she has been researching a subset of Davorian dialect for an advanced xenolinguistics class, Nyota keys up the student console, checks to make sure the tutorial is finished, and closes down the computer.

She turns her own computer off, too, and palms the switch near the door to turn out the lights in the lab. At the far end of the hall she can see that the light to Spock's office is on, and instead of heading for the stairs, she goes in the other direction.

He is, indeed, still in his office. As soon as she places her hand on the doorframe and looks in, he sits back in his chair where he has been writing on a PADD and meets her gaze.

"The last student just left," she says. Spock neither nods nor speaks, but Nyota doesn't expect him to. She understands his aversion to commenting on the obvious, and though she occasionally teases him about it _—"It wouldn't kill you to be polite"—_ she knows that sort of social interaction feels unnatural to him.

"I'm starving," she says. "Could I interest you in joining me for something in the cafeteria?"

Nyota watches him carefully as he places the PADD on the desk and stands. Lately their easy camaraderie has been colored with confusing overtones that leave her feeling unsteady, as though everything they say is fraught with too many meanings.

An invitation to a meal, for example, is no longer a simple commentary about being hungry. Now it is weighted with something else that Nyota cannot quite name.

Ever since Spock's trip home to Vulcan over the school break, his demeanor toward her has changed, though if she were pressed to explain how, she would be at a loss. He seems both more wary and more drawn to her, more careful with her when others are around but less formal when they have quiet moments alone in the lab.

Twice she is convinced that he initiated physical contact—brushing her hand when they passed each other one morning while opening the lab, and another time letting his fingers meet her own as he handed her a stylus. Both times she had felt something akin to an electric shock jump across the contact, and with it, an image of herself and a sense of perspective that left her dizzy.

She hates feeling shy around him now, but there it is. Part of her is hoping he will turn down her invitation and she can relax with a quick bowl of soup before retiring to her dorm and a hot bath.

He is silent for another moment and Nyota is about to turn on her heel and head out when he finally says, "The word you mean is _hungry_ , and as I have not eaten today, I will be happy to join you for a meal."

Nyota laughs then and steps back into the hall to wait for him. She feels a bubble of relief that he is joking with her—perhaps she has been reading too much into their interactions lately.

When he closes the office door behind him and matches her step in the hall, she darts a quick look up at his profile and says, "The word I mean is not _hungry_ but _famished_ — and if you haven't eaten all day, you are, too."

Without pausing, Spock tilts his head down at her and she sees amusement in his eyes. She knows what is coming next—or at least, she hopes she does. It is the kind of verbal jousting they both enjoy.

"I am neither starving nor famished—and neither are you," he says, touching her elbow to steady her as she takes her first step down the stairs and reaches for the handrail. Again she is surprised—this sort of casual touch is new, and she isn't sure what it means. That he is more comfortable, certainly, but why now?

Something has happened. He has said little about his recent trip home except that his parents were well and he was able to take care of some necessary business. She doesn't want to intrude on his privacy, but if the opportunity arises to find out more--

A few stray rain drops fall as they make their way across the quad. The windows of the cafeteria throw large rectangles of light onto the wet lawn and sidewalk, but despite clearly being open, most of the serving lines are dark. Nyota picks up a tray inside the door and makes her way to the one line still staffed with servers. There the only options available are meat and carbohydrate casseroles. Even the salad bar is empty.

"Well," she says apologetically, "I've dragged us here for nothing." She replaces the tray in the stack near the door and without speaking they head outside.

"The deli near the faculty housing does not close," Spock says, and again he touches Nyota's elbow, this time to indicate the direction they should walk. He lowers his hand almost immediately, but it is enough for Nyota to feel that strange spark, and with it, an image of herself as if she were seeing herself from above, the top of her head angled back and the shimmer from the streetlamp rainbowing in her hair.

With a start she realizes that she is seeing herself as Spock sees her. _Does he sense her thoughts as well?_ She flushes.

The deli is a small, nondescript corner of a local food market, outfitted with four or five tables pushed against the wall. Spock and Nyota select vegetable wraps and drinks from a large refrigerated unit and make their way to the farthest table. Both eat for a few minutes without talking, and then Nyota says, "For someone who is neither famished nor starving, you look like you are enjoying your meal."

Spock does not answer right away and Nyota can tell that he is considering how to phrase what he says next. When he is being playful, he often gets that particular look on his face—not as intense as when he is calculating an equation or reading a difficult text, but a look that belies the care he takes in everything he says.

" _Enjoy_ is too strong a word," he says, and Nyota laughs. She holds up her own slightly limp sandwich and wrinkles her lip.

"Checkmate," she says.

They finish and pay quickly and head back across campus. The walkway leads straight ahead to the student dorms, with two smaller paths leading to the faculty housing nearby. Nyota pauses at the intersection of the three paths and is starting to tell Spock goodnight when a loud clap of thunder is the only warning of a tremendous downpour.

Instantly they are both soaked. The rain is cold and miserable, and Nyota can't help but laugh at Spock—he looks as uncomfortable as a cat.

"Go on!" she says, and she reaches out and gives him a nudge towards his apartment. "I'll be okay!"

She turns to run toward her dorm on the far side of the quad.

Before she can, she feels a warm bracelet circle her wrist and she looks up in surprise. Spock pulls her toward the faculty apartments and in a moment they are standing together under the front door awning.

They are both shivering as he keys in the building code and pushes open the door. His apartment is the first one on the left and he quickly opens the door and steps aside for Nyota to enter.

Every time in the past that Nyota has been in Spock's apartment, she has been uncomfortably hot, but tonight she is glad for the heat. She slips off her wet boots and then perches on the sofa, her arms crossed and her feet tucked underneath her, as Spock flicks on lights and heads to the bathroom at the end of the hall and returns with towels for them both.

For a few moments they are occupied with wiping the dripping rain from their faces, and then Nyota pulls the band from her hair and shakes it loose so that she can towel dry it. She can hear Spock in the kitchen heating water in the kettle, and when he returns in a few minutes, she takes the mug of tea from him gratefully.

He leaves her again and goes back down the darkened hall. Nyota hears him opening drawers or doors—he must be changing into dry clothes—so she is not surprised when he returns in a long-sleeved singlet and loose pants.

She places her mug carefully on the table beside the sofa and folds the towel she has been using to dry her hair. Spock is standing near the sofa quietly, and when she looks up, Nyota holds the towel out to him.

"I think the rain is stopping," she says. She can, in fact, still hear the rain hitting the window, but she feels that she is intruding in Spock's private space in a way that is making him uncomfortable—he no longer looks amused or playful. Instead, his face is a blank—his eyes are shadowed by the lamp and her inability to read his expression makes her nervous.

She stands up then, intending to pick up her boots and slip them back on at the door, but Spock takes a step toward her and she hesitates.

"You are shaking," he says.

She smiles and says, "I'm just cold," and then as she watches, Spock reaches out his left hand and touches her upper arm. Nyota catches her breath—there again is the electricity, a faint buzz that she feels in her mind and on her skin.

She closes her eyes and tries to see everything as he sees it—his fingers on her arm first, then trailing up her jaw and spreading across her cheek, and underneath that his image of her, small and dark, and a neediness and urgency that startle them both. She feels herself responding to his warmth and his hand, and she moves closer until they are standing only inches apart.

She opens her eyes and looks up. His eyes are closed, his breathing ragged. His other hand reaches forward and he places his palm against her own, their fingertips touching.

Abruptly he drops his hand from her face and pulls his hand away from hers. Spock's eyes fly open and he takes a long breath.

"Forgive me, I—"

Nyota is shivering again but this time not from the cold. She leans forward as he says, "We could be censured if we continue," and she nods.

"I know," she says. "But I want this."

With a start she recognizes at last the source of their recent awkward dance around each other. Spock is right—they are breaking regulations and risking punishment, but they have been spiraling towards this moment for a long time.

She tips her face up for a kiss but he meets her forehead with his own instead. Again she feels that sense of urgency, this time overlaid with a tingle of amusement as an image of herself, naked, pressed against the wall and entwined with him, flashes through her mind.

So this is his imagination, she muses, and she turns and tugs him down the hall to the bedroom.

There she is only too glad to shed her wet clothes, but once she does, she stands self-consciously while Spock pulls his singlet over his head. The motion dishevels his damp hair and Nyota laughs.

The sound interrupts the seriousness of what they are doing and she needs a moment to stand apart and simply look at him. Unbidden, she recalls seeing him cut his finger as he had prepared a recent meal—-and she revisits her shame at how she had recoiled at his blood, dark and alien. The man standing before her now is beautiful, his pale skin and dark hair a study in contrast, his brown eyes warm and human. He lifts his gaze and meets her own.

Spock takes a step towards her and she raises her arms to circle his neck. He trails his fingers from her shoulders across her breasts and slips them around her waist, pulling her close. She hears her breath escape in a hoarse sigh; dimly she is aware that he is leaning her onto the bed, one hand holding her thigh, the other pushing her arm back and sliding up to grasp her hand over her head.

A flicker of surprise flits across her consciousness as he lowers himself onto her. Almost immediately she cannot catch her breath, as if her lungs are full of something heavy like honey or oil, and she is drawn down into a darkness that is both terrifying and thrilling. She slips her palm from his and holds it against his chest, willing him to slow down.

Now that both of his hands are free, she feels his warm fingers slip up to her cheek and temple. In an instant a brilliant flash rushes through her, and she imagines herself lit up like the silhouette of someone caught in a lightning storm. She knows that this is his idea and not her own, that the boundaries between their minds is dissolving into a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, alien and familiar, distant and near.

For a second she lies motionless and struggles to hold onto her separate thoughts and emotions, but then the heat of his body becomes almost unbearable and the urgency she had sensed earlier returns like a wave.

So this is what he feels—-and she feels it with him.

For a heartbeat longer they are still, and then he rocks forward and bears down. Without conscious thought she arches up to meet him, her arms thrown back over her head like someone in surrender.

He presses forward once more and they arrive at the moment that defines them as lovers at last, without prelude or preamble, a Rubicon they cannot uncross. Both are astonished into stillness by what they have done; they lie adrift a fraction of time that is both infinite and infinitesimal--and then they begin to move.

In the landscape of their minds Nyota sees Spock's equation of who they are—lean, clear numbers and symbols arranged in mathematical beauty, poised before a calculus of tension and release. The honesty of the image causes her heart to skip a beat, like stepping into soft sand that gives way suddenly, and she climaxes into uncontrollable shudders as Spock echoes her motions.

When they are still again, Spock rolls them so that they are on their sides facing each other. Nyota's heart is racing, her breathing labored, and Spock slowly lowers his hands from her face and she feels his thoughts withdrawing. The loneliness is terrible and swift and totally unexpected.

But it is also a relief to have her own thoughts once again.

When she trusts her voice she says, "Is that…how it always is?" and Spock circles her with his arms and does not answer. He is being deceptive about something, she thinks, and she leans her face away so that she can look him in the eye.

His expression is cloudy—so he _is_ hiding something. Perhaps he is troubled by her hesitation, or her surprise, or her blossoming confusion.

"I mean," she says, "that was… _fast_ —and _intense_." She is nonplussed with herself—usually she is able to express herself well-—but she needs time and distance to consider why she is reluctant to admit how overwhelmed she feels.

Her words seem to call him from a distance and he says, "The word you mean is _efficient_."

His teasing calms her slightly and as her breathing steadies, she is able to think more clearly.

"The word I mean is _instantaneous_ ," she amends.

They have to talk. She needs to know if this pace….this intensity…this loss of herself in his own mind…is how it will always be.

But for now she needs time to consider what she will do if he says it is.

A faint chiming jars her attention and she struggles to sit up. Spock keeps one hand on her hip and she is unable to rise—his strength is another disconcerting realization—but when she bats at his hand playfully, he lets her go.

"I think someone is calling my comm," she says as she stands up and retrieves it from her uniform which she has left puddled on the floor.

"Your comm has been signaling for the past 12.4 minutes," Spock says as he gets up and walks toward her. She checks the comm log—Gaila has called multiple times. Nyota feels a prickle of worry—why hadn't she heard it?

She dials Gaila but gets no answer.

"I'd better go," she says, finally looking up at Spock. He is gazing at her with a slight frown—his concerned look, Nyota knows—and she picks up her soggy uniform and smiles ruefully, slipping on the tunic and then the jumper. The chill of the cloth helps her hurry her actions. That's probably a good thing, she thinks—otherwise she would be tempted to angle to stay here awhile.

She feels rather than sees him follow her down the hall to the front door, and when she turns around before placing her hand on the knob, he is closer than she expects. Once again she raises her face, a vague notion to kiss him flitting through her mind, and once again he leans into her and touches her forehead instead. The buzz of his mind is there, even in this light contact, and she hopes she is projecting her pleasure and not her concerns.

Spock unhooks a folding umbrella from a hanger near the door and hands it to her. She looks back once and walks out into the wet, cold night and heads to whatever is waiting for her back at her dorm.

A/N: The only detail alluded to in this story that you _might_ need to know from the first two in the trilogy is that Spock recently traveled to Vulcan where he and T'Pring engaged the services of a healer to facilitate their annulment.


	2. Context

**Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from these characters! I just eavesdrop on them!**

Even as he lights the firepot in the corner of his bedroom, Spock knows he is wasting his time. He doesn't bother to assume a meditation pose but lies across his bed, his duvet thrown over his chest. If he can slip into a light trance this way, so be it—but he isn't hopeful.

He's not used to such competing thoughts and emotions. Usually he is a master compartmentalizer—he can arrange and prioritize his ideas and then pull them out to examine in logical order.

Not tonight. Since Nyota left he has been uncharacteristically restless, pacing through his apartment and checking his computer and commlink for messages. When she hasn't called him in an hour, he considers calling her instead, or at least flagging a voice message.

He tells himself that he is merely concerned—after all, her roommate had tried repeatedly to contact her while she was at his apartment but couldn't—an emergency, perhaps, or information that may affect her schedule tomorrow when she is supposed to meet several students for a tutorial. Surely he needs to know if that is the case. Contacting her to find out would be…logical.

But he knows this is untrue, that if she has a real emergency she might be preoccupied and his intrusion on her time would be unwelcome—and if she has plans to change her tutorial schedule, she will tell him without needing to be prompted.

Instead, if he is honest with himself, he wants to talk to her because the evening has left him unsettled in a way that has caught him off guard.

For months he has fantasized about such an evening, though he has kept those fantasies to himself, certain that they could never be realized. The risk was too great, the uncertainties too looming—and yet when the opportunity to act had presented itself, he had stepped forward into the abyss willingly, almost impulsively.

He and Nyota cannot go back to who they were before, and this is the biggest source of his disquiet. Before tonight they were teacher and student, and then professor and assistant, and finally friends and companions, but now he isn't certain how to define what they are. Starfleet has one definition, of course, but Spock decided months ago that the regulations are imprecise enough to afford what humans call "wiggle room"—just the kind of ambiguity that he normally finds irritating.

But breaking Starfleet regulations is the least of his concerns tonight. Far more disturbing is the close examination he has given his own behavior since Nyota took his umbrella and headed back to her dorm.

From the moment that they had been caught in the storm and he had invited her to wait out the rain in his apartment, part of his attention had been focused on getting her into his bed. Acknowledging that now makes him feel ashamed and crass, as if he were like some of the cadets he has known who treat women as objects for their own sexual gratification.

This is, perhaps, too hard a judgment—after all, he would not have acted the same if the woman in his apartment had been anyone but Nyota. His need for _her_ —his headlong urgency for _her_ —was not the result of some random desire but the culmination of months of friendship and regard, of respect for her intelligence and wonder at her humor. His need is for _her_ alone—and until tonight he had thought theirs would remain a chaste relationship….and any other needs would go unmet.

Even more upsetting than his vague thoughts of seduction early in the evening are the actions he took to accomplish it—and in particular, his deliberate mental linking with Nyota when he had sensed her hesitation.

Imposing on another mind this way is a terrible breach of decorum for a telepath. He is mortified that he did not shield his thoughts, and worse, that he allowed Nyota to be overwhelmed by his emotions and needs—even taking them on as her own. He should have given her time to find her own rhythm and pleasure, waiting to brush her mind only then, but by the time he had realized this, he was too far gone, hurtling forward to the inevitable conclusion—and pulling her along with him.

Next time he will be more attentive. If there is a next time.

His worst imaginings involve his recognition that for her, the evening was startling, maybe disappointing. Twice she had reached up to him with the unmistakable longing for a human kiss, and twice he had dodged her—gently, to be sure, but he could feel her confusion.

Not that he doesn't kiss—though as a rule, Vulcans explore the world through their hands and fingers and are not as orally fixated as humans are. As a cadet himself he had discovered how predisposed human beings were this way—his sexual experimentation with human women had always involved a great deal of oral stimulation of one kind or another—but it had never been as satisfying as the touch of finger to finger and mind to mind.

Though those early encounters, if he is truly honest about them as well, were at their core disappointments—the women mostly curious about his alien physiology and not interested in much else. Kissing them had been slightly less interesting than trying to touch their minds…which he had done only fleetingly, and only while carefully shielding his own.

He had even called his mother after one cadet had scolded him for his lack of response—not to tell his mother any details, of course, but to ask about her own experience. Did she, for example, miss human interactions such as kissing? His mother had laughed and said, "What makes you think I don't kiss? I kissed you when you were a baby," to which Spock had said with impatience, "I mean kissing with sexual intent. Do you—do humans—need to kiss when they are sexually intimate?'

His mother's face had lit up and she had said, "Spock, are you interested in someone?" to which he had replied truthfully, "I am interested in learning about this human phenomenon."

But that had been several years ago, and his mother had never really answered his question. Now Nyota is answering it for him. She seems to want it.

Since he is being honest with himself this evening, he has to admit that the idea of kissing Nyota feels more dangerous than his experiences with other women, and he suddenly knows why. As long as he had felt T'Pring's presence in his mind—however faint--he had no compulsion to possess or be possessed by anyone else—with the oral marking that entails.

Now, however, since the annulment, the brakes are off, and as sexually intimate as he has been with Nyota, marking her as his own with a nip or a bite would be far more so—and unforgivable without her understanding and consent.

Kissing, he is afraid, might lead to that sort of oral satisfaction. Surely there is a compromise somewhere?

As he sorts these ideas the rain begins again, and despite his chaotic wanderings, Spock feels himself being lulled down into a light sleep, comforted by the idea that no matter what has happened tonight, he will see her tomorrow, and they will put right the things that are making him toss and worry.

X X X X X X X X

As soon as she opens the door to her dorm, Nyota is furious. She has rushed across the campus, worried that Gaila might be ill or hurt—and here she is entertaining a man. They've had words about this before—it is the thorniest aspect of their usually affectionate relationship—but tonight, especially, Nyota is angry that her own plans have been interrupted this way.

Even more infuriating is that the dark-haired man is stretched out on Nyota's bed, facing away from the door and towards Gaila, who is lying prone in her usual half-undressed state on her own single bed.

Gaila looks up happily as Nyota slams the door behind her.

"Look who's here!" she says, and for a moment Nyota is confused. Is she talking _about_ her or _to_ her? Apparently both. The young man turns his head and grins.

"Where have you been?" he asks, and for a heartbeat Nyota is so disoriented that she cannot speak. The young man rolls over and sits up, his feet striking the floor as he stands and steps toward her.

From the corner of her eye, she can see Gaila watching her closely.

"Yes," Gaila says with mischief in her voice, "where have you been? I thought you were finishing up early in the lab this afternoon. Or did you and the Commander work late? Again."

Nyota darts a warning glance at Gaila. This topic is off-limits, and Gaila knows it. For some time she has annoyed Nyota with innuendos that until tonight were simply that—misplaced assumptions about the nature of her relationship with Spock.

Gaila wrinkles her nose and giggles. Nyota gives her a frown before turning her attention to the bemused young man standing in front of her.

"Jarrod," she says, "what are you doing here?"

Before he can answer, Gaila pipes up.

"I tried to call you! You didn't tell me your boyfriend was coming to town."

A grimace flashes across Nyota's face and then she tries to smile.

"I'm sorry, Jarrod," she says. "She's incorrigible."

Gaila gives a trilling laugh and hops up off her bed, heading to the recessed closet and pulling out a short shift. She slips it over her head and leans down to rummage under her bed for a pair of sandals that she steps into.

Nyota and Jarrod stand mesmerized by Gaila's flurry of motion. Only when Gaila grabs her handbag from the dresser does Nyota realize that she is leaving, and she panics.

"What are you doing?" she asks, and Gaila picks up a sweater from a tangle of clothes on the floor and opens the door.

"I'm leaving you two lovebirds alone for the night," she says, and before Nyota can protest, Gaila adds, "so now Jarrod has a place to stay. See you in the morning!"

And with that, she is gone.

 

**A/N:  An interesting fandom meme is that of Vulcan "marking" to show possession--a little love bite that has more significance when Vulcans do it than when humans get carried away and give a nip!**

**Thanks for letting me know that you are out there!**


	3. Tone

**Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from these characters. I just snoop around and watch what they do.**

The silence after the door shuts is complete. Nyota and Jarrod stand stock still, looking at each other. Finally Nyota lets out a breath and says, "I'm sorry. I didn't tell her you were my boyfriend. She's just being….herself."

Jarrod smiles then, and the tension drains out of Nyota's face. She sits on her bed and pats her hand down, motioning him to join her. He does, rocking the bed, and they both laugh. Then Jarrod leans into Nyota's shoulder and says, "I wouldn't mind if you had. We were good together once."

"A very long time ago," Nyota says, nudging him back.

She feels Jarrod turning sideways to look more closely at her.

"You look terrific," he says. "Starfleet agrees with you."

She flushes and looks down at her damp uniform.

"The word you mean is _dreadful_ ," she says, flicking her hand through her hair. "You smooth talker," she adds, but what flashes through her mind is the game she and Spock often play that she thinks of as _The Word You Mean_. It is a gentle sort of one-upmanship, not the kind of smooth talking she associates with flirting, but an important part of how they communicate their affection.

And yes, it is affection. She knows that now, if she didn't before. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach she feels uneasy using their affectionate banter to joke with Jarrod this way.

Jarrod is eyeing her and she smiles.

"So why are you here? You haven't told me."

"To see you," he says, and Nyota laughs quietly.

"No, really," she says, and he tilts his head and says again, "To see you. _Really_."

She looks down and says, "Have you been home lately?"

"I saw your mother last week," Jarrod says, and Nyota glances up as he takes her hand in his own. "She really misses you."

And then he adds, "Everyone misses you. Me most of all."

Nyota gives what she hopes is a noncommittal smile and pulls her hand away.

"I thought you were on the Martian colony," she says, and Jarrod snorts.

"Yeah, well, the company went under and I had to come back for awhile."

Before Nyota can comment, Jarrod leans closer and looks at her intently. For a moment she is nonplussed—his dark golden eyes have always been uncanny, piercing and lovely against his tawny-colored skin, and when she had known him closely, she had thought that he could look into her mind with his gaze.

Now, however, she realizes that his gaze is flatter than she remembered, that what she had thought was understanding might be nothing more than a peculiar anomaly of light and color. She feels a flush of heat as a picture of Spock's warm brown eyes flashes through her mind like an afterimage—and she unconsciously rubs her hand that he had pressed to the bed.

She tries to pull herself back to the present, though Jarrod doesn't seem to notice her distraction.

"I'm shipping out in a couple of weeks on a new freighter line," he says, standing up abruptly and turning to face her.

"That's great!" Nyota says, but to her surprise, Jarrod frowns.

"Listen," he says, "I might as well put all my cards on the table here. You have….what….six months, another year, at the Academy before you even have a shot at a decent job? You could be doing what you want to right now. This new freighter company has top-of-the-line equipment, some solid investors—you could get in on the ground floor and make the job you want."

Nyota starts to protest and Jarrod interrupts.

"Nyota, just listen. I didn't want to say anything, but you need to think about what you are doing. Your mother—"

Instantly she is angry. This is just the kind of controlling conversation that had doomed them several years ago—and she isn't willing to get caught back up in it. If she says anything now, they will do nothing more than argue. She takes a deep breath and tries to will herself to calm down.

If Jarrod is wary about her mood, he ignores it.

"I'm not saying this to try to upset you," he says, and Nyota feels a fresh flare of anger. This, too, feels familiar, a manipulative comment that pretends compassion and throws the burden of emotion back onto her.

"You _are_ upsetting me," she says at last, and Jarrod nods.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice sounds so sincere and contrite that Nyota feels her anger lessen slightly.

"It's just that—" he begins, sitting back down and taking her hand again in his own, "I worry about you here. The military—the direction the Federation is taking with some of the new applicants for admission. There's trouble ahead, Nyota. I don't like thinking about you facing it. And your mother—"

"Stop bringing up my mother," she says. She hazards a look at Jarrod's face—those golden eyes again, piercing through her—and he says, "I love your mother. She still writes to me."

She probably does, Nyota thinks. Her mother had always liked Jarrod, had loudly expressed her disappointment when Nyota had ended the relationship and left for the Academy.

She takes a deep breath and starts to pull her hand away again, but Jarrod tugs it close and tightens his fingers around her own.

"Let's not fight," he says. "I won't be in town that long. I really just wanted to see you again—and to tell you that you have options apart from this—"

He motions with his other hand to include her room and by extension her life at the Academy.

Nyota takes a moment to gather her thoughts. She doesn't want to be thoughtless or angry—this is a man she cared about deeply once, still cares about, in fact—but she senses that he has expectations of her that make her uncomfortable.

"Good luck with that new posting," she says, and she feels Jarrod's hand tighten. "I appreciate your concern, but this is where I want to be."

"I see," he says, his words lancing into her chest. He is clearly disappointed—though she isn't sure why he should be. Aside from sending occasional impersonal notes, they have not spoken in two years. She's heard that some people try to reconnect to past lovers when they plan to be off-planet for some time—perhaps his is simple sailor's remorse.

They sit in silence for another minute and then Nyota tries to stand. Jarrod continues to hold onto her hand and she feels a flicker of annoyance.

"I'm glad to see you," she says, "but it's been a really crazy day and I'm tired. I need to get some sleep."

She says this with as much apology in her voice as she can muster, but in fact she hopes he will hurry up and leave. Spock will be wondering why Gaila had called her away so suddenly, and she wants to contact him anyway, to talk a bit about what they should do now.

But Jarrod laughs and stretches back out on her bed, pulling her forward.

"Stop!" she says, truly annoyed now, and Jarrod lets go.

"Go right ahead and get in bed," he says. "I'll just read awhile before turning in."

Nyota's jaw drops.

"Wait a minute," she says, "you aren't staying here tonight."

Jarrod folds his hands together and scoots them under his head.

"Your roomie said—"

"I don't care what she said," Nyota says, batting at Jarrod's leg, "you can't stay here tonight. There's a hostel just outside the Academy gates. You can get a room there."

For a moment she thinks Jarrod is going to get stubborn and argue, but suddenly he sits up and gives her a sunny smile.

"I surrender!" he says, and he stands and picks up a small duffel that he had left on the floor. "I don't want to get in your way."

He heads to the door and she feels a wave of relief.

"Like I said, I'm only going to be in town a short time. Can I see you before I go?"

Those sugared tones, she thinks. He was always talking her into doing things against her better judgment.

"I have to work tomorrow in the language lab," she says, and Jarrod raises his eyebrows and says, "Ah, yes, with the _Commander_."

To her dismay, Nyota feels herself flush hard.

"But maybe we can meet for a meal later," she says quickly to cover her embarrassment, and Jarrod swings his duffel forward in response and lets himself out. She stands and listens as his footsteps echo down the hall and finally dissipate, and then she closes the door.

She isn't sure how long she sits holding her commlink in her hand, trying to center herself enough so that her voice doesn't shake and she can talk sensibly, but by the time she finally dials his number, Spock has turned his comm off—and though she is paradoxically deeply relieved and very disappointed, she doesn't even consider leaving a voice message.


	4. Diction

**Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from these characters! I just snoop around in their lives.**

The only time Spock wears a chronometer on his wrist is when he travels off-planet and must adjust to a different local time. Even then, once he has acclimated to a new place, his internal clock takes over and he stops wearing the chronometer with the relief of someone freed from an irritant like a headache or an unwanted social engagement.

Here in San Francisco he never wears a chronometer—nor does he pay any attention to the many clocks and time registers displayed in prominent places throughout the buildings.

Yet this morning his internal clock must be off, he thinks. Nyota is never late.

Even before he looks at the digital clock in the lab, he knows that the time is 0816:46:01. His glance only confirms it.

Her tardiness is unprecedented. Either she is unwilling to get to the lab on time, or she is unable.

Three students arrive at the lab at the same time and Spock is momentarily preoccupied with cueing up their individualized programs. This is normally Nyota's task, and Spock feels the first sensation of alarm as he finishes with the third student and looks again at the clock.

She is now 22 minutes late.

As he slips into the chair behind the master console, he considers again the possibility that she is unwilling to come to the lab. He admits freely that his conduct the night before had been inexcusable—not their sexual intimacy, but the far greater intimacy he had forced on her when he coupled their minds briefly and overwhelmed her with his own longing.

When she left his apartment, he had resolved to make amends somehow—though he cannot imagine any words or actions that will express the reasons for what he had done without sounding like a vapid human apology. He cannot fully understand himself—his lack of control, and worse, the part of his mind that even now is not really all that sorry….that does not regret what happened—

Unless his actions have so disgusted her that she does not want to see him.

This sort of drama is foreign to her, however, and he easily calls up another scenario that he immediately decides is more likely. She may be willing to get to the lab but unable to. The comm call from her roommate last night suggests some sort of change in plans, perhaps even an emergency, that may be determining the course of her morning. Surely she will arrive soon and explain, or at least send a message.

No sooner has he calmed himself with this reassurance than she arrives at the door of the lab, clearly flustered and sheepish. Before he can speak to her, one of the students looks up with relief and waves her over for help. Spock feels a flicker of irritation that the student has monopolized Nyota's attention, particularly when he clearly needed help and did not call Spock over earlier.

In a few minutes she is finally free, and Spock stands up from the master console to relinquish it to her.

"Cadet Uhura," he says, and she nods quickly and sits.

"Commander."

Spock waits a beat, but when no explanation is forthcoming, he leaves the lab and goes to his office to finish preparing notes for his afternoon lecture. Dimly he is aware that for long moments he is staring in the middle distance at nothing, that his thoughts are circling around again to the conclusion that she must, indeed, be upset with him.

In the past Spock has often felt at a loss when humans were upset with him—and discovering the reason for their upset did not necessarily lead to any conclusions about how to remedy it. Just last week, for example, he had angered the dean of the language department when she had asked him to head up a new technology use survey and he had declined. In retrospect he shouldn't have told her that he thought her pet project was ill-conceived and a waste of resources—and he realized later that, although she had presented his participation as a choice, he was supposed to understand that he had none, really. When he had declined, she had given him a look of anger—and he might have missed that epiphany if the assistant dean hadn't come to speak to him in private the next day.

But Nyota has always been more open and expressive with him. When she offers him a choice, it is a real one; when she says she is annoyed, she then explains why. This honesty is what he values most in her—because it keeps him grounded in a world that he still finds more baffling than not.

If he has lost that—if he has lost her—then he is truly lost indeed.

X X X X X X X X X X X X

Nyota hopes that the chronometer on her wrist is wrong. She can't be that late, can she?

"I have to go!" she tells Jarrod, and though she is aware that he has opened his mouth to protest, she bolts down the hall and shoves open the outside door, knocking into two cadets to whom she flashes an apologetic shrug.

She looks back at the administration building she has just exited and notes the time on the clock tower. She is fifteen minutes late, and the language lab is at least another ten minutes away, six if she runs.

She runs. Damn Jarrod, anyway. He had called her early and asked her to help him get a key card to the campus. At the time Nyota had thought this was a good idea—he could come and go without needing her to key him into the cafeteria and the library, places he said he wanted to visit today. But the line in the administration office had been several deep and she had been distracted enough to let the time slip away. Once she had vouched for him and he had finished the paperwork to get his temporary ID, she had glanced at her wrist and panicked.

She tries to call Spock's comm but gets an automated alert; as she huffs across the quad, she leaves a breathless message on his messaging system.

She takes two stairs at a time to the second-floor language lab and notes the digital clock as she enters. From the corner of her eye she sees Spock across the room, but then Cadet Yee, or Lee—she can never remember which—hails her to his computer station and she reluctantly heads over.

Finally she finishes answering the cadet's questions and she walks over to the master console. Her nervousness surprises her—but then, their evening before has re-ordered everything. If Spock is nervous to face her, he doesn't show it. If anything, he seems less present than usual, not even asking her about why she had rushed away so quickly last night.

That's a bit disturbing. She has rehearsed that conversation—emphasizing her disappointment about being called away by Jarrod's unexpected visit—but apparently Spock is not interested, his indifference offputting. She matches his chilly tone with a coolness of her own.

When the scheduled break time rolls around two hours later, she is tired of feeling so unsettled. She signals to the two remaining students that she will be off duty for the next twenty minutes, and they pause their own computers and stand up to take a break. These breaks are actually more welcomed by the students than the teachers' assistants—Nyota herself rarely feels the need to stop every two hours—but as a representative to the TA union she had supported the call for these breaks, and now she feels honor-bound to take them.

When she first became Spock's assistant she had been anxious about stopping her work for a cup of tea—she recalled how he had been cited by disgruntled TAs as just the kind of professor who ignored the need for food and water—but he had never questioned her and soon joined her in the break room for tea and conversation. Their friendship—if she calls it that—really began there.

Spock is walking down the hall toward the lab when she exits—so he was coming to get her, she thinks. Perhaps he was simply busy earlier and she misread his economy of words as annoyance. It's an easy mistake to make—and one that keeps other people from getting to know him well.

They head together into the break room and busy themselves with making tea. For a few minutes they work side by side in companionable silence, but once they take their mugs and sit at one of the small round tables, Nyota feels awkward again. She has so much she wants to say—and more she wants to ask—but she cannot think how to begin.

"What did you do after I left last night?" she asks. There—she has set the topic—and she looks at Spock carefully to measure his response. He says nothing for a moment and then takes a sip of his tea.

"Everything?" he asks, and Nyota laughs. What a relief to hear him joke again, even though she has a serious intent behind her question.

"Yes, of course," she replies, and he says, "For the first four seconds I was occupied with locking the door—"

"Stop!" she says, laughing harder. "You know what I mean."

He takes another sip and tilts his head.

"You mean that I should speak in generalities rather than specifics. Very well, I went to sleep."

"Oh!" Nyota says, taken aback. "Just like that? You just went to sleep?"

"If you wish me to speak in general terms, then yes. I slept."

Her hands are around the warm tea mug but Nyota feels a sudden chill. What had she expected him to say—that he lay awake all night thinking about her—or if he had slept, that he had dreamed about her? This is just the kind of nonsense she has always mocked her lovesick friends for wanting—and here she is doing the same. She feels vaguely sick, and she takes a breath and gives herself a mental shake. _Stop making this out to be more than it is_ , she tells herself, but even as she does, she feels a little ache in her chest.

"And you?" he prompts, and she says, "Oh, yes—that old friend I told you about. He showed up and Gaila was trying to let me know."

"Old friend?" Spock says, and Nyota nods.

"The one who needed a temporary ID this morning?"

Spock looks at her blankly, and she presses on.

"The one I told you about in the voice mail? The reason I was late?"

A look of comprehension dawns on his face and he pulls his comm from his pocket.

"Ah," he says, "I neglected to turn it on this morning. I did not get your message."

"That's not like you," Nyota says smiling, and Spock says, "Nor is being late like you. I suppose we have both been distracted this morning."

And there—the topic is back on the table. They meet each other's eyes and Nyota can tell that Spock is struggling to tell her something—his brows knit ever so slightly and he sits up straighter—sure signs that he is in his serious mode—but before he can speak, the Andorian Professor Artura wanders into the break room and greets them by name.

"Commander, Cadet Uhura, I trust you are having an enjoyable morning?"

Nyota shoots Spock another look before she speaks to the professor.

"I was just telling Commander Spock that an old friend of mine from home arrived last night for a short visit. He's taken a navigator's position on a new freighter line."

"Oh, yes," Professor Artura says, stirring his own mug of brewed herbs and placing his spoon in the sink. "Some of those new start ups are snapping up our third and fourth years. Can't say I blame them. Lots of money in it—if that's what you are looking for."

And with that he ambles back out of the room and down the hall toward his own office.

"Jarrod—my friend—asked me if I wanted to sign up," Nyota says as she rises and pours herself some more tea. "I'm surprised I haven't heard more about it—if Professor Artura already knows—"

When she sits back at the table with her full mug, Nyota looks up in time to see an odd expression flitting across Spock's face.

"What?" she says.

""Clarify."

"That look just now. What was that about?"

She can tell that he is considering whether or not to answer and she is suddenly impatient. Their break is almost over and they have yet to discuss anything of importance.

"Your friend from home," Spock says, "is someone with whom you are intimate?"

Nyota is so startled that she almost knocks over her tea.

"Why are you asking—" she starts, but abruptly she changes her tack. This is Spock, after all, and he will not understand her embarrassment or her evasion of the truth.

"Jarrod and I are old friends—" she begins, and again Spock interrupts her.

"You were lovers?"

Speaking bluntly is harder than she imagined it would be. Spock's interruptions suggest that he is concerned, or upset—though his expression betrays no emotion at all. She decides to try again in a different direction.

"The word you mean is _boyfriend_ , and yes, he was my boyfriend for awhile. But that was before I came to the Academy. I haven't seen—"

Heavy footsteps in the hall silence her, and she waits for them to pass by so she can finish her thought. Spock, however, looks past her to the door, and as she turns to see what has caught his attention, she hears Jarrod's voice.

"There you are!" he says cheerfully. "I came by to see if you can slip away yet."

A rush of air and the sound of a scraping chair say more to Nyota than they would to anyone less aurally sensitive—Spock's swift exit from the break room without a word follows almost immediately.

For a moment she considers going after him, but then she is annoyed. If he is jealous of Jarrod, he hasn't been listening to her very closely. How many times does she have to say it—Jarrod is an old friend—an old boyfriend—and yes, a former lover—but he is ancient history.

But it doesn't seem likely that Spock is jealous. Nyota has to remind herself not to anthropomorphize him—not to see him through the lens of humanity, but to accept his quips and quirks as something else. Ignoring social niceties isn't unusual for him—most likely that is what he is doing now.

Still, it is tiresome to have to deal with. She turns her attention to Jarrod instead.

"Sorry," she says, "but I'm in the middle of a session. I'll call you later when I'm free."

"Dinner?" Jarrod says, and in spite of herself, Nyota nods.

"Okay," she agrees reluctantly, and she stands up to lead him to the stairwell. On her way back down the hall to the lab, she notices that Spock's office door is closed. She crosses her arms and balances on one foot and then another, hesitating, uncertain, and then Cadet Lee—or Yee--calls to her from the doorway of the lab and she goes to see what stupid, unnecessary question he has now.

A/N: Thanks for all the feedback!


	5. Mood

**Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from these characters. I just stalk them….um, I mean, I report what I see them do.**

"You embarrassed me today," Jarrod says, and Nyota pauses, her fork in mid-air, and stares.

"I embarrassed you?" she says, putting her fork down on her plate. Dinner so far has been a mildly pleasant rehash of old times and commentary about mutual friends, but she is tired and ready to finish up soon. Jarrod, on the other hand, hails the waiter and orders another drink.

"For you?" he asks, and Nyota shakes her head. If he drank this much in the past, she doesn't recall it. Usually she is wary of men who drink heavily—one experience with a mean drunk had been enough to make her skittish—but Jarrod's mood hasn't turned dark, or at least it hadn't until now.

"When did I embarrass you?" she asks, and as soon as she does she is sorry. His countenance clouds over and he leans forward slightly.

"Don't pretend you don't know," he says, picking up his own fork and spearing some stir fry. "When I came by your lab—you couldn't wait to hustle me out."

Nyota blinks and shakes her head slightly, as if to discourage a mosquito from her ear.

"What are you talking about?" she says, her voice rising. "You came by when I was busy. I couldn't stop what I was doing and visit with you. I thought you understood that."

Jarrod looks down at his food and frowns.

"That was the Commander your roomie talked about, wasn't it?"

For a moment Nyota doesn't follow what Jarrod is saying, but then she remembers Spock's abrupt departure from the break room when Jarrod had shown up. At the time she thought Jarrod had not noticed anything unusual, but apparently he had—and had taken offense.

She picks her fork back up in as nonchalant manner as she can muster and says, "Oh, Commander Spock isn't one for casual conversation. He didn't mean anything—"

Jarrod takes another drink and interrupts her recitation with, "I see."

"I think I better go," Nyota says, feeling for her purse in her lap and pulling out her wallet.

Immediately Jarrod's manner shifts completely. He smiles broadly and waves her hand back—"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—you're right. Please, Nyota, I'm an idiot. It's just that I—it makes me crazy to see you again and realize…."

He lets his words drift off as he looks down. "Just finish your meal, okay? I won't say anything else stupid, promise. Sit back down, please?"

Against her better judgment she does sit back down, but she resolves to leave as quickly as she can after paying her bill. She looks around for their waiter. A large crowd at the door comes in and all the wait staff are instantly busy seating them. Reluctantly she turns back towards the table and looks at Jarrod.

The sorrow in his face catches her by surprise, and she feels her frown soften a fraction. He has always had this ability to mollify her—even when she was provoked beyond words. Part of the reason she had ended their relationship was because she didn't trust herself around him. Too many times she had offered him forgiveness when he didn't deserve it, had fallen for his manipulations that at the time had seemed so charming and reasonable.

Now he gives her one of his most winning looks and blinks his eyes in a parody of contrition, and despite herself, Nyota laughs.

"So," he says, sunny again, "have you thought any more about my offer?"

For a second Nyota considers pretending ignorance but decides to be upfront instead.

"Nope," she says--comically, she hopes. "I know what I want, and it isn't on some new freighter line."

Jarrod says nothing but picks up his drink and finishes it.

"I can't say I'm surprised," he says as he sets his glass down, "but I am disappointed."

He swirls his finger around the top of his glass and then looks up at Nyota.

"You know, I never stopped loving you. I thought you should know."

"Jarrod—" she starts, but then falls silent. No matter what she says, it will not be what he wants to hear.

Finally the waiter does appear and they pay for their food and make their way outside.

The restaurant is a student favorite—small and clean and cheap and one of several actually located on the campus. Normally the walk back to the dorms is pleasant, but the breeze from the ocean has started up, cold and wet, and Nyota shivers and folds her arms around herself. Jarrod leans forward and they force their way into the wind.

They are almost to the front gate when Nyota realizes that she has left her key card in the language lab break room. Without it she will have to wait for another student passing by to let her in the dorm—yet she doesn't want to go back to the lab and risk running into Spock tonight.

She had seen him only briefly that afternoon, his face a careful mask of propriety as he stepped into the lab to tell her that he was leaving for his lecture. After that she had finished up her tutorials and had shut the lab down, leaving in time to meet Jarrod for dinner. She mentally kicks herself for being flustered enough to leave her key card behind.

There's no help for it, however, so she tells Jarrod to wait for her and she goes up the steps to the language building, holding her breath that the door hasn't already been locked. It opens at her touch and she turns to look at Jarrod standing below. She gives a quick thumbs-up and pushes the door open.

Her heart is rocking her ribs as she reaches the top of the inner stairwell and looks down the hall. With a sigh of relief she notes that Spock's office light is off, his door shut.

In another moment she is in the break room. The room is dark but the lights coming in from the outside window make navigating possible. She hesitates for a moment to let her eyes adjust and is startled to realize that someone is sitting on a chair next to one of the round tables. She gasps and reaches behind her to palm the light switch. The fluorescent lights flutter on and reveal Spock holding her key card.

"What are you doing here?" she says, sounding angrier than she feels. The bad fright has made her querulous, and she takes a forceful step forward and reaches out her hand. "Were you just going to sit here until I showed up?"

Even to her own ear, she sounds ungrateful. Nyota picks up the key card and tucks it into her pocket, only then hazarding a glance at Spock. He is eyeing her curiously, and not with anger at all. In fact, she thinks he looks amused, deflating her irritation all at once.

"Actually, I closed my office and was heading home when I saw your card on the table. I was debating how to get it to you when you showed up."

"Oh," she says in a small voice. "I'm sorry I snapped at you—it's just that…you startled me."

He stands then, starting to reach out his hand but pulling it back to join his other behind his back. His professor's stance, Nyota calls it, and she recognizes it for what it is—his way of letting her approach him when she is ready. She nods and they head down the hall and the stairs together.

Outside the wind has picked up considerably and Jarrod is hopping up and down as Nyota and Spock exit the building. For the tiniest hesitation Spock holds back but Nyota touches his elbow with her fingertip and says, "Come on. Be nice and say hello to an old friend…an old friend who is leaving soon."

If Jarrod is surprised to see Spock, he hides it well. Nyota is relieved when they nod to acknowledge each other during her introduction. Suddenly she is very tired, and the chill in the air makes her eager to get back to the warmth of her room. She pulls out her key card from her pocket and tells Spock goodnight as she motions for Jarrod to head down the walkway toward the front gate. She feels that she needs to walk him there, at least, before saying their final goodbyes.

They have taken only a few steps when Jarrod says, "A Vulcan, Nyota? You can't be serious."

Nyota swivels away instantly and says, "Good night, Jarrod. Have a safe flight," but before she can walk away, she feels him grab her arm.

"What are you thinking?" he says, but his next words are muffled by grunts of pain. Spock is standing at his side, his fingers clasped around Jarrod's free hand.

"Let her go or I shall surely break your wrist," Spock says, and Jarrod twists his arm in a vain attempt to free himself.

"You wouldn't dare," he says through gritted teeth.

The streetlight on Spock's face reveals no change of expression at all. Jarrod, however, pants and lets go of Nyota suddenly, and just as suddenly, Spock drops his hand to his side.

"Nyota—" Jarrod says, leaning over and rubbing his wrist. Nyota twitches away from him and says, "Stop it! You don't own me!"

And then the most surprising thing of the evening happens. Spock reaches out his hand to touch her own, and she jerks away as if burned. In the brief contact she feels his concern and affection, but she also feels a dark possessiveness that catches her completely off guard.

She looks up at him and says, "And you don't own me either!"

He pulls his hand back and stands for a moment as she gathers her breath. She knows she has wounded him—she doesn't need to feel it though their fingers to read it in his eyes—but she can't deal with him right now. She turns once more into the wind and heads across campus to her own dorm—and to whatever minor annoyances and drama her Orion roommate can distract her with tonight.

A/N—Hang in there! One more chapter in this story.

Some readers object to a Nyota with flaws--but I like her better as a realistic character--that is, someone who, despite being a talented linguist, might forget someone's name, or who despite loving Spock, might find his behavior off-putting or baffling enough to strike out at him--in other words, someone who makes poor choices occasionally or who is fooled by a clever sociopath and survives those experiences to become stronger for them... that makes her more interesting to me, and someone I can relate to, having made my own share of poor choices in my life! Just saying...


	6. Delivery

**Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from these characters. I do, however, eavesdrop shamelessly on them.**

Nyota is taking only one course this semester, an advanced xenolinguistics class that meets on Fridays for four hours. The professor is a retired admiral—a stickler for rules and regulations and not someone inclined to be generous with praise. Because the study groups usually meet in the afternoons or evenings after the class, Nyota does not work in the linguistics lab at all those days.

It is the one day of the week that she and Spock rarely see each other. Ordinarily this means that the day is less interesting than otherwise—despite her genuine appreciation for the challenge of the coursework—but today she is relieved to head to class and a scheduled group work session afterward.

When she settles into her seat and pulls out her PADD to download the notes for the lecture, she tries not to think about the evening before. Jarrod had actually had the temerity to leave her a message on her computer—typical of him to think she wouldn't object—but she has had no word from Spock. Good.

For the first fifteen minutes of the lecture she focuses on the admiral's description of a language sub-group discovered among a species of Eldorian tree-apes who apparently communicate only with verbs.

Soon enough, however, she realizes that her attention is wandering.

Spock's expression as she had yelled at him _—"You don't own me either!"—_ replays like an endless video loop in her head.

Nyota had seen a mother in a market once turn toward her small child and slap him in the face. Spock had looked equally pained…and shocked…and betrayed.

This memory is uncomfortable enough that Nyota tries to call up her anger again to banish her guilt—she can still feel the buzz as their fingers had touched….his anxiety about her safety first and foremost, but underneath that, a chaotic reservoir of images of them sharing meals and jokes, walking and working together—and still further sublimated, a sexual longing and a panic about losing her that frightened her with its intensity.

She understands the possessive feelings lovers have for each other, but this is something else….something…. _inhuman._

And that's the source of her fear, she realizes. Part of her is still keenly aware of their differences—and uncomfortable with them.

The rest of the lecture is as much of a washout. She hears almost nothing of it—and what she does hear makes little sense as she follows one rabbit hole and then another through her thoughts. Her work group gathers briefly outside after class to decide where to meet for lunch and Nyota begs off, telling a rare lie--that she has a headache and needs to take a break.

Instead of going back to her dorm, however, she heads to the language lab. She has no idea what she will say when she gets there—she just knows that they have to talk, and she trusts that the words will come when she sees him.

But she doesn't see him. The lab is dark—not odd considering how few students schedule their extra tutorials for Fridays—and Spock's office is locked, despite a notice showing his regular office hours.

Professor Artura and his aide are sitting in the break room, but neither has seen Spock today. With a sigh, Nyota thanks them and debates whether or not to call him. Perhaps he would agree to meet her somewhere to talk—at the very least, she could reassure herself that he is okay.

When Spock doesn't answer his comm, Nyota feels a rolling mixture of worry and annoyance. She is reasonably sure that he is busy doing something ordinary—and that he has simply forgotten—again!—to turn on his comm.

This doesn't, however, solve the problem of The Talk. For as she tries to track him down, The Talk becomes an imperative. Suddenly waiting until tomorrow to share what she is feeling is intolerable. Her worry shortens her breath and she heads across campus towards the faculty apartments.

Without his key code she cannot get into the building, so she presses the intercom and waits for him to unlock the outside door. Nothing. She presses again, but the electric switch does not come on.

Even if he is angry with her, Nyota cannot imagine Spock not answering his door if he is home. Such churlishness is not his nature at all—unless, of course, he is unable to answer. She imagines him lying sick or hurt inside and has a moment of panic—but she tells herself to calm down.

More likely he is out, but where? And then she knows.

The door to the market deli across the street is belled and makes a delicate tinkle when Nyota opens it. She looks toward the tables in the back at the same moment that Spock looks up and makes eye contact. With a sigh of relief, Nyota closes the door behind her and makes her way down the crowded aisle.

The table is small—no more than a meter in diameter—and Spock has covered it with student assignments and his personal computer tablet. Nyota wrinkles her brow—she has never seen him working in a public place this way. Normally he avoids the distractions of noise and motion when he works, staying in his office or coming home to his apartment. She can't help but comment.

"I didn't realize that you enjoy working here," she says, picking up a stack of folders from the only other chair and sitting down.

Spock looks at her steadfastly, his eyes hooded and his expression neutral—a look he usually reserves for people he doesn't know well. His formality is surprisingly hurtful, but Nyota tries not to feel upset.

" _Enjoy_ is too strong a word," he says, and Nyota smiles. She tries to recall the last meal they had shared here—hadn't he said something similar about their wilted sandwiches?

"I've been looking for you," she says. Spock says nothing but continues to watch her. For a moment she hesitates; then she presses forward.

"I'm not sure what happened last night," she says, "but I never meant to hurt you. It's just—"

She falters. What does she mean? That he has no right to feel what he feels, that his emotions keep overwhelming her? That as secure as she is in herself, she isn't so secure that she isn't worried about being consumed by the passion that she knows lies under his quiet demeanor?

Or is that even true? Can they ever have a common vocabulary to discuss what this…relationship…might become?

Distant thunder rumbles—La Nina has made for a wet winter along the Pacific coast this year—and the lights flicker briefly. Spock leans over and closes his computer tablet and gathers several of the student folders into a pile.

"Nyota, I…should not have intruded into your thoughts…last night, or…before. We are not….you are not—"

His discomfort is painfully clear; Nyota feels a pang for him and starts to reach out her hand to his. He darts a glance at her and picks up the folders, keeping his hands occupied and away from her. This is a rebuke of sorts, or a withdrawal. Either way, Nyota is more alarmed than upset.

"Don't pull away," she says. "Not that. If you do, we won't ever know-"

Spock looks down.

"Perhaps if I had better control," he says with what Nyota recognizes as bitterness in his voice.

"What are you talking about?" Nyota says, leaning towards him with a vague sense that she is tethering him to his chair. Obviously he is planning to make his escape—he has gathered up all his materials and seems ready to stand up. "You have more control than anyone I know—"

"Nyota," he says, almost sharply, "no Vulcan would have forced a link with another the way I did you—no Vulcan would have used force as a first resort as I did last night."

"But you didn't hurt him! You just threatened him—"

"I was fully prepared to break his wrist. If he had not let go, I would have."

She can see that this admission is costing him. His face is as cloudy as she has ever seen it, his expression dark, his posture ramrod straight. She reaches out again to brush his arm and he adds, "I wanted to break it. I was disappointed when he dropped his hand."

_So._

She isn't sure what to think. They sit in silence until another peal of distant thunder rattles the ground.

The bell on the door tinkles again and several cadets in red come in. Nyota drops her hand from Spock's arm.

"Look," she says, "we haven't solved anything yet. I want to talk about it. We need to talk about it."

She tries to smile. Spock glances up as the cadets make selections from the refrigerated unit and head towards the little tables pushed up against the wall.

"Okay?"

Spock says nothing but she can tell that he is considering it. His eyes take on an unfocused look and he tilts his head slightly.

"Spock?" she says. "Can we at least talk? Maybe somewhere quieter?" She motions with her shoulder at the cadets at the next table.

"The word you mean," Spock says softly, his expression lightening a degree, "is _private_."

"Even _privacy_ can be noisy," Nyota quips, relieved to fall back into their familiar banter. "The word I mean is _secluded_."

X X X X X X X X X

The apartment is a mess.

Books, tablets, and blankets are strewn on the sofa and the floor around it. The heat—always uncomfortable—is oppressive. Nyota takes a gulp of hot air and heads to the kitchen to get some water.

Glasses—some empty, some half-full—line the counter and fill the sink.

"What happened here?" she calls as Spock scoops up the majority of the mess from the sofa and carries it down the hall.

He doesn't answer and she comes back into the living area, a large glass of water in her hand, and heads to the temperature controls beside the door.

"Do you mind if I turn down the heat?" she calls, but Spock answers from right behind her.

"Adjust it to make yourself comfortable. Do you need something to eat?"

She turns back from the controls and is instantly aware of how close he is standing to her. They look at each for a moment and then he steps back and she follows him to the sofa.

"I'm not hungry," she says, slipping her back against an armrest and tucking her feet up in front of her on the cushions. After a moment Spock turns toward her, his back against the opposite armrest, his legs folded in a lotus position. Nyota wiggles her feet forward and rests them on his knees.

Time to talk, she thinks. Yet now that they are here, she finds herself thinking about the bedroom down the hall instead. The heat rises to her face as she flashes back to the intensity—the heaviness and breathlessness and loss of herself—when they had made love before.

She looks up and sees Spock waiting for her to begin. She does.

"Last time—you said you forced yourself into my mind?"

Spock looks as abashed as she has ever seen him. She hastens to add, "But I didn't feel forced. I wanted you there."

His eyes flick up.

"It was _fast_ —that was a surprise. Maybe we could…slow down?"

She says this with a question in her voice, but they both know it is a condition for continuing.

Spock says nothing but she can tell that he is both surprised and cheered. She reaches forward and taps his knee, and he puts his finger on the top of her hand.

The buzz jumps across and Nyota laughs.

Spock turns his hand so that two of his fingers contact hers. Instantly the buzz becomes a hum, and Nyota feels a warmth flow into her.

"What is that!" she says, still laughing, and Spock says, "You might call it a Vulcan kiss."

"Ah!" she says, scooting closer. Spock stretches his legs out in front of him as they sit facing each other on the sofa; Nyota hops up and slides down between his legs, her own wrapped around his waist.

His eyes widen in surprise. She links her arms around his neck and touches her lips lightly to his.

"You don't like this, do you?" she says, teasingly. "Is it my imagination, or do you pull away when I try to kiss you?"

At this, Spock does pull back and turn his head to the side.

"What's wrong?" Nyota says, a note of genuine concern creeping into her tone. Spock's breathing is labored and she lowers her arm and takes his hand in her own.

"Tell me what's wrong," she says. This time she feels nothing through his hand—and that, too, is alarming. "If you don't tell me—"

He closes his eyes and she feels his thoughts rushing back—his images of them here now, entwined on the sofa, and his longing to carry her to the bed and swamp her with his heat and motion, and his stronger resolve not to do so—at least not yet—and she echoes back a tiny feeling of disappointment—and he shows her another image, of them kissing at last, and how fearful he is that he will lose all control and mark her as his own.

" _You do not own me either,"_ she had said, and he had known then that this would be the greatest challenge—not to consume her, to possess her body and mind, to bite her—

"Oh!" she says aloud, startled. His shields are up in a flash and she has to coax him back.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I guess we still have a lot to discover about each other—"

And she feels his happiness swell and she thinks, "Let's try that again," as the thought echoes in his mind.

She feels his breath inhumanly warm but not unpleasant beside her ear as he leans forward. She doesn't move, letting him come to her now at his own pace. And then she feels the soft brush of his lips against her cheek. His fingers drift across her lips like a blind man's exploration, and then his lips follow.

"That's a start," she says.

He presses his forehead against hers and he answers, "The word you mean is _destination_."

X X X X X X X

Later when the rain begins in earnest, they remember that Nyota has left Spock's umbrella in her dorm room. Naturally she has to wait to leave until the weather clears—which is doesn't do all weekend.

 

**A/N:  If you have been entertained and want to continue reading about my little Star Trek timeline, I will begin posting a multi-chaptered fic called "People Will Say" that covers the time between the end of this story until Spock's disciplinary hearing for fraternization.  Each chapter shows our couple making their way cluelessly through the next year, unaware of all the hints they are giving the people around them about what they are up to.  I hope you enjoy it!**

 

**Comments and kudos keep me going!  Thanks to everyone who leaves one!  
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